Everybody's Got a Story
by YourAngelStandingBy
Summary: Formerly 'Whisper'...A 3 part story staring (you guessed it) the Trio... ON HIATUS INDEFINETLY!


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Whisper

~YourAngelStandingBy

Authors note: Actually, this is more of a warning… this story will contain abuse of several kinds (one, specifically, I will NOT go into detail with. I'm not that twisted.) This story is meant to show another side of our buddy, Warren, and, hopefully, explain why he was the way he was: a tad psycho. Heed the rating, please… oh, and feedback would be nice. This is the first time that I'm writing a story of this nature.

~Angel : )

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*Sound effects*

*Thoughts*

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***_Crash*_** "You bitch!" It's starting again. The fighting, the yelling… it's just like the other day… **_*slam*_** except with more violence. "Bitch!" he hears his father yell again, followed by another dull slamming sound.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" his mother begs, and he can picture her huddled in a corner somewhere downstairs… just like the other day. He doesn't even bother to try and figure out why they are fighting, because a seven year old shouldn't even be hearing this sort of stuff. He just hopes that it will stop soon, so he can concentrate on his project again.

"Are you crying? Why are you crying?" his father demands, his feet slowly stamping over to wherever his mother may be hiding.

"No, I'm not crying… I'm not crying…"

"Yes you are… you're crying! You're just trying to make me feel bad!"

"Oh, God… no! I'm not! I'll stop… I swear I'll stop!"

He can hear her sobbing oddly, desperately trying to stop her tears. He can also hear his father swiftly walking towards the stairs. "Warren! Get down here, now!" And he doesn't hesitate, jumping off of his bed to the stairs, where his father waits at the bottom, his fists clenched in rage. He swallows hard as he walks down the stairs, his eyes wide in uncertainty. The last time he got called down during a fight, his father beat him nearly unconscious. He was still sent to school when Monday came along… the teachers didn't even ask about the bruises. They didn't have to. He often wondered why nothing was done.

"Yes… dad?" he asks, his voice shaking, holding in his own tears. It was bad enough that his mother was crying. He knew how pissed his father would be if he started. He's told him a thousand times that real men don't cry. 

His father grabs him by his shirt roughly, and half carries; half drags him over to where his mother is huddled. Her dark hair is a mess, obviously from it being pulled, and tugged. Her eyes are red rimmed and one of them is quickly forming a fist shaped bruise. He can see the little streaks of red under her nose, indicating that it was bleeding not too long ago. "Stand here." his father orders, placing him directly in front of his mother. He suddenly feels very ill.

"Are there tears on her face, Warren?" his father asks a little too gently. Warren simply nods, still staring at his frightened mother. "What's that mean, son?"

_Son_… he thinks. _He called me son. He's trying to bond with me?_ In his confusion, Warren fails to notice his father kneel beside him, or the hand gently placed on his shoulder. "Warren? I asked you a question. When a woman cries, what does it mean?"

He scans his brain frantically, trying to think of an answer that will please his father, and not entice a beating. "Um…" he starts, his eyes darting around the room. His father sighs, and stands, walking across the room in obvious annoyance and frustration, his fingers running through his hair.

"I'll forgive you this time, boy, because I don't remember telling you what it means." The relief that rushes through Warren is short lived as his father marches over to the frightened woman, grabbing her hair to make her stand. He barely hears her surprised and pained yelp. "It's simple, son… when a woman cries, she's trying to make you feel bad."

"Why?" he asks before he even think about what the answer might mean. He feels his heart sink as his father stares at him with wide eyes, ignoring the struggling woman in his grasp. Warren can almost see the rage burning in his fathers' eyes.

"That's a very good question, son. Why would a woman want to make you feel bad?" the man almost shouts into the woman's ear, making her jump and whimper, slightly. "I'll tell you why, Warren… because they're weak!" Warren watches as his father throws his mother against the wall with a sickening thud, a crack resonating in the room. He watches as she falls to the floor, clutching her now broken wrist, the sobs shaking her violently.

"See! She's weak! The only way she thinks she can beat me is to cry… to try and make me feel bad! She's trying to black-mail me with her tears!" he yells, kicking the woman repeatedly, each connection making Warren flinch and wince. "All women are like this! All of them! Bitches! Whores! All of them!"

He wants to turn away as his father grabs his mother by the throat, slamming her against the wall again, then slamming his fist into her face… over, and over, and over again. But he holds in his tears, lest he suffer the same fate as his mother. Suddenly, the man stops, letting the woman fall to the floor in a bruised and blooded heap. "Understand?" the man asks calmly, wiping the blood from his fist with the end of his shirt.

"Yes sir." Warren answers with a shaky nod.

"Good…" the man walks across the room to the couch, seemingly studying the young boy as he sits. "Now… hit her."

"W-what?"

"Hit- her."

The words suddenly don't make sense to him. _Hit her? But… she's my mom. She didn't do anything to me._ Becoming impatient, his father stands, and grabs the confused child by the hair, turning him toward his silently crying mother. "Are you listening? I said **hit her**!" He's only slightly aware of the fact that his father has shoved him closer to his mother. It makes him sick to look at her, her face swelling to near twice its normal size.

He can feel it coming… another panic attack. If he hits her, he'll be just like his father, and he does not want to be that way. He loves his mother a lot. She's never so much as raised her voice to him. On the other hand, if he doesn't hit her, he will be beaten almost to match her. Indeed, her is in quite a jam. "I… I can't…" he starts to choke out, his breath ragged.

"You can't?" his father asks a little too calmly, and he knows it's coming… that blind rage when things don't exactly go his way. Warren's panic attack begins to intensify as his mother looks at him sadly. He knows that she would rather have him hit her than to see him beat again. Another tear slides down her face, and he knows it's for him. "You can't…" The laugh that escapes his father his hollow, and dry… not like the maniacal laughter that usually comes from him.

And then he can't breathe, his father having circled around his front to kick him square his gut. He's given just enough time to catch his breath before his father starts on him… after all; the man isn't looking to kill him. He is just looking to punish him for disobeying him. Each punch becomes less intense as he gets used to the pain again. That's what happened last time. He got so used to the pain that he became numb to it. He didn't even realize that he was near unconsciousness until his mother told him the next day.

She always did that. She always came to him the next day to whisper comforting words to him. She always knew what to say to make him feel better about everything. "Everything will be okay, baby, just you wait." she'd say over and over again until his weak head would nod in agreement. Then she would carefully scoop him into her arms, and rock him back to sleep. He was seven, but he still relied on his mothers touch to help him fall asleep.

Sometimes he would wake up to them yelling again, usually in their bedroom. He'd hear the ripping of clothes, and then his mother begging for his father to stop whatever it was that he was doing. He, not too long ago, discovered that it was called rape. He didn't mean to find it out, but then a friend of his in school told him about it after it happened to her sister. It made him sick that someone would force anyone to do something like that.

Unlike last time, he does become unconscious, his head banging into the wall very, very hard. It's the first time that he has disobeyed his father, and it seems like the man wants to make sure it never happens again. But Warren knew he did the right thing. He didn't hit his mother, and he was glad for it, even as his father continues to pound him. Not that he can actually feel it anymore, what with not even being conscious.

He doesn't know how long it's been when he finally opens his eyes, his ears picking up light sobs. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the hospital lights, realizing that is where he is due in part to the smell of ammonia invading his nose. He slowly turns his head to see his mother beside him, her head buried in her hands as she cries… and, just as his father said, it does make him feel bad. He tries to fit the thoughts in his head together. He knows that hitting his mother would have been wrong, but he hates the feeling that her tears are bringing him. 

Should he have hit her? Is she intentionally trying to make him feel bad by crying? It's all so confusing, and he isn't sure what to do about it. He certainly can't hit her… can he?

No, he can't… that's his mother. She never hurt him, ever. He tries to get her attention by speaking, but only manages a light cough.

"Oh, God, Warren." she starts, grabbing his hand gently. The concern and pain in her healing eyes makes his heart ache. No, he couldn't hit her… or any woman for that matter. "You're awake. I didn't think you'd wake up…"

She explains to him that his father is currently in jail, but won't be staying because she dropped the charges. He really wants to yell at her for it, but she continues by saying how she understands that he's angry, but he'll understand when he falls in love. She tells him that he's been in the hospital for four days, her voice shaking, and she brings her head closer to his.

"I was so afraid, baby…" she whispers, her eyes closing as fresh tears roll down her face. "He just kept hitting you. He finally stopped when I hit him…" She trails off, obviously not wanting share the next part with him. He already knows it involves either a weapon, or the upstairs… he's assuming it's the latter. 

"Anyway… I think you'll be okay… you just… need to rest…" she continues in a whisper. "And, Warren, for the love of God, the next time your father tells you to do something…" she stops to take a shaky breath, then in a voice he can barely hear, she says "…you do it."

He stares at her confused, her eyes suddenly opening. "Do you understand?" 

He takes a moment to think about what she's asking him, and he does understand. If his father asks him to steal, he has to do it. If his father tells him to hate women, he has to do that too. And if his father demands him to beat his mother, then he has no choice but to do it… because his **mother** told him to. He weakly nods his head, and she carefully embraces him. She has no idea what the future will mean for her son, now… but at least now he'll live to face it, and, in a whisper, she says, "I'll still love you." 

And for some reason that seems to justify it all for him.

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_Author's note:_ I hope that didn't suck too bad… but if it did, feel free to let me know!

~Angel: )


End file.
